


Eight times Aziraphale and Crowley got married + One Time they joined souls

by Scmnz



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale as the guardian angel of the gays, Celestial Marriage, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Genderfluid Anthony J. Crowley, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid!Crowley, Handfasting, Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Other, Secret Relationship, Weddings, and get married a whole lot, au where they’ve been together the whole time, except it's 8+1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 10:04:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20469239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scmnz/pseuds/Scmnz
Summary: In which Aziraphale and Crowley get married. A Lot.





	Eight times Aziraphale and Crowley got married + One Time they joined souls

  1. ** 2000 BC Mesopotamia **

In early human history, marriage wasn’t what it would later become. It was a contract, not of love, but instead to preserve power, create alliances, gain land, and of course, to make more humans. While most of these reasons meant little to celestial or occult beings, something about the custom drew the attention of two such beings who had a unique interest in human affairs.

It was Aziraphale who first mentioned it in one of their meetings. “It seems fitting, I thought, to tie ourselves together. And well, we are meant to be sworn enemies throughout humanity's history, so I thought, why not mark that with one of their customs? What could be the harm?” He smiled a small, blindingly hopeful smile. 

And part of Crowley wanted to argue that there was a lot of possible harm, even without knowing what marriage would later become. But, well, how could he refuse that face. It wasn’t like either of their sides could object to them immortalizing their rivalry. With how they kept running into each other, it almost felt like they were meant to be together, bound to each other through time and space. As enemies of course! The thought of an alliance, of their own side, was a wish that he had yet to admit, even to himself at the time.

Some embarrassment later came of the situation, as human customs changed and the idea of love entered the equation. But by that point, they had already been married. More than once in fact, because Aziraphale liked the ceremonies and the feasts that went with them so much. Had Crowley never agreed, or had Aziraphale never brought the idea up in the first place, their relationship may have gone very differently indeed. Ideas of “too fast” and so on may well have caused problems. But as it was, the situation forced the two to face their true feelings much sooner than they otherwise might have. 

Of course, now that their marriages meant something more, something deeper than a contract between foes, they could not continue as openly as they had in early human history. And they certainly could never get married in the celestial sense, because the shockwaves from that kind of union would immediately alert their superiors, who luckily would not otherwise be paying that much attention. 

  1. ** 550 AD King Arthur's court**

Aziraphale stood in the court of King Arthur in full plate armor. Another knight approached him jovially clapped his gauntleted hand against his shoulder with a loud clang. “Ah, Sir Aziraphale!” he boomed, “are you planning on joining the tournament this time?” 

“Tournament?” Aziraphale feigned interest. He had never seen the attraction of jousting; two men riding at each other in heavy metal and risking serious injury had never been his idea of fun. 

“Yes! The day before the next full moon. The victor will win the fair lady Leah’s hand in marriage, or so the rumors say.” The tiny fraction of interest Aziraphale had mustered vanished. He was perfectly happily married, thank you so very much, though of course no one but him and Crowley knew that fact.

“Ah, I think perhaps I will sit this one out as well. Thank you for the invitation though, Sir Reginald.”

The knight shrugged. “It’s your loss, they say she’s a real beauty.”

\---

Aziraphale stood among the other knights as they milled about the ring. He had no intention of taking part but he needed to be present or there would doubtless be  _ talk _ .

“There she is!” He heard Sir Reginald shout, and he turned to look. There, standing among the other noblewomen, was someone who Aziraphale would recognize anywhere. She was wearing a teal gown with long embroidered sleeves, and her long red hair fell down her shoulders in intricate braids. Aziraphale gasped. Well, that certainly changed things. He made his way across the stadium. 

“Fair lady, might I have a moment of your time?” he asked, trying to mimic the eager charming speech of the other knights. She turned her head and gave him a  _ look _ . Nevertheless, Crowley followed him.

When they were out of earshot of the courtiers Aziraphale hissed, much like how Crowley tended to hiss when they weren’t focused, “Crowley! What do you think you’re doing?!”

She batted her eyelashes in sarcastic fake innocence that wouldn’t even have fooled someone as gullible as Gabriel. “Whatever do you mean angel?”

“I’m told  _ you’re _ the prize for this tournament!”

She chuckled, “Jealous? Then it’s working.”

“This was to get my attention?”

“Not really.” She shrugged. “It’s a temptation. Lust, envy, coveting the victor and seeing a person as a possession, all that good stuff. My numbers have been low lately so…” A wicked grin crossed her sharp features. “And it already seems to be working on you, so I’d say it’s a pretty good plan. Temptation en masse. Better keep an eye on that jealous streak of yours there.” 

Aziraphale swallowed. He was feeling rather unangelic, it was true, but he didn’t  _ want  _ his love to marry anyone but him. That was their thing. Not even once, not even for a temptation.

Then a smile lit up his face, “Quite the contrary my dear. It’s practically my duty to win the tournament, and save those poor men out there from being tricked.” He bowed and kissed her hand before turning to rejoin the other knights. “And I assure you, fair lady, I will win.” There was a steely determination on his normally soft features. 

\---

Aziraphale spurred his stead onwards, charging at top speed toward his final opponent. He gripped his lance firmly and took aim square in the center of Sir Gerald’s shield. There was a loud thud. Aziraphale’s lance connected and shattered, the other knight’s aim had missed. The impact nearly knocked Sir Gerald off his horse, but he clung on. 

Both returned to their starting positions and rode again. This time the other knight’s lance did not miss, but Aziraphale’s aim was true and inhumanly accurate. Sir Gerald’s lance shattered on impact, and the force of this combined with the force of Aziraphale’s strike sent him flying off his horse and into the sand. The crowd cheered.

Aziraphale dismounted and first went to check his opponent for injuries. It wouldn’t do to let anyone come to harm. He extended his arm to help him to his feet, and as their gauntlets touched he willed any scrapes or bruises on the other to mend themselves. 

After the other man was standing Aziraphale strode to where the judge and lady waited to declare him the victor. 

All eyes were on the pair as he approached her and kissed her hand. But that was fine, he was thwarting her demonic wiles. Heaven would have to excuse this if they found out. It was fine. He had an excuse.

The judge declared, “Sir Aziraphale is the winner, and he shall have Lady Leah Crow’s hand in marriage the Sunday after next.” It took all of Aziraphale’s willpower not to burst out laughing at the name. But, well, she never had been the most inventive with those.

\---

And so two weeks later they were married, for what must be the hundredth time by now. But it was still a magical moment as Crowley approached him at the altar. They were surrounded by people, knights, and nobles, all of Arthur’s court. But in all the senses that mattered, they were completely alone. Alone in their knowledge of each other. Alone in their love, their secrets, and their fear. Alone in each other’s arms. But at least with each other, they were less alone than they would otherwise be. Together they could face the rest of time. 

  
  


  1. ** 1000 AD at sea**

The boat bobbed peacefully in the middle of the Atlantic. The ship’s captain eyed the two passengers. They were an odd pair, but certainly not the oddest he had officiated. Or at least that was what he thought. “You know this won’t hold any legal weight right?” he asked.

The man in white gripped his companion’s hand. “This isn’t about legal.”

“Right right, ‘course not,” he glanced at the figure in black. “And you feel the same about this?”

They adjusted their sunglasses and nodded. 

The captain shrugged and began a short seamen’s prayer. It didn’t reference any god specifically, simply hope that fate and the sea would treat the couple kindly. He had them hold hands throughout, and when what could barely be called a ceremony was complete he told them to kiss. What stuck with him was the odd way they did kiss, like this was something practiced and familiar, not at all like most of the couples who employed him to marry them so far away from the nearest land. Usually, they were desperate and afraid. 

  
  


  1. ** 1550 Scotland**

It was the dead of night. The lush green hills of the countryside rolled around them. There was no one but the two of them awake, except for the pagan priestess who would remember none of this in the morning. Crowley reached out and interlaced his fingers with Aziraphale’s. The angel practically glowed in the silvery moonlight, looking even more ethereal than usual.

Aziraphale smiled softly and lifted Crowley’s hand, gently brushing his warm lips against his fingers. “It’s been too long since we did this.” 

Crowley squeezed his hand. It had been too long. But they both had been under closer scrutiny from their sides because of the crusades so it couldn’t be helped. “At least we’re doing it now.” He then shifted his grip so that their hands crossed.

The priestess, slowly as if in a trance, began winding the first silken cord around their entwined arms. Aziraphale raised his eyes at the color. “Really dear, black? That seems rather on the nose.” Crowley shrugged. He was probably right, but if he tried to surprise the angel every time, things could get weird fast. And though he’d never admit it, he liked the sentimental symbolism. 

When the first cord was securely fastened the priestess started with the second, this one a snow-white satin rope. It looped and crossed under and over the black one. Aziraphale let his head fall onto his companion’s shoulder as they watched in silence. 

She pulled out the third cord, rough fabric dyed a cheery yellow. This one had been Aziraphale’s choice. Crowley raised an eyebrow and waited. He knew the answer was coming, that the angel would leap at the chance to explain what it meant. 

And he did, smile illuminating his features. “It’s yellow like your eyes dear. I know you feel…  _ complicated _ ... about them, but well. You know I think they’re lovely. And I knew you’d pick two expensive cloths, you do so love to spoil me. I thought, perhaps something a bit more common, not as an insult you understand. But to show I’m dedicated to you, that I know your worth even if...” Aziraphale looked skywards with a tiny frown. “Even if others don’t.” 

Crowley squeezed his hand and hoped that was answer enough. He doubted he could speak clearly with the tears suddenly stinging his eyes and the thickness in his throat. 

As if in responding to words unspoken, Aziraphale squeezed his hand back and murmured: “but let's not think about them right now. All that matters is the two of us, love.” 

Well, that had done it. Crowley was actually crying now. It wouldn’t be the first time. Quite often one or both of them wound up crying at their weddings. The angel used his free hand to stroke through Crowley’s hair as he held his other hand tight. 

When this final cord was entwined with the others, Aziraphale smiled at the priestess. “You may go now. You will remember nothing from tonight except pleasant dreams.” She turned and disappeared in the direction of the nearby village. 

The two settled down into the grass and watched the stars with their arms still bound together.

  
  
  


  1. ** 1920s England **

The roaring twenties led to small informal weddings becoming a trend. Elopements and city hall marriages became more common than they had been in recent history, with big ceremonies having been the custom of the previous time period. 

Crowley leapt on the opportunity. They had been unable to wed in private without raising suspicion lately and so it had been quite some time since they had last had a ceremony. But with the recent surge in informal weddings, this might be their chance to slip through the cracks. 

And so, bright one morning in early May, Crowley met Aziraphale in a courthouse, waiting behind several other couples with similar plans. 

Aziraphale had made the effort to dress in clothes that were less than a decade old, which she appreciated greatly. They looked quite dashing on him really. The suit and waistcoat were charcoal black, and Aziraphale’s white-blond hair was even more striking with how it contrasted with his dark hat.

Crowley herself was in a knee-length flapper dress, off-white more for the look of the thing than any real attachment to white as a bridal color. She had seen all kinds of colors used for brides throughout the centuries and cultures of the earth, and worn a great many of them herself. Her hair was in a short curled bob, with no veil. 

When they reached the clerk, Aziraphale promptly wiped his mind of their presence. They didn’t sign any of the paperwork, but gave him the impression that they had. There was no trace that they had been there, except for the fresh marriage certificate he had given them before promptly forgetting their existence. 

This certificate would join their collection of others in Aziraphale’s shop. 

  
  


  1. ** 1980 Las Vegas **

Crowley was lounging on a couch in Aziraphale’s bookshop. “Angel?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale had been reorganizing his books so he wasn’t paying close attention. 

“We should get married.”

Aziraphale paused and raised an eyebrow. “What, again? Already? We got married only twenty years ago, in Japan.”

“Yes but…” Crowley sat up. “There’s these new things happening, vegas weddings. One of my inventions. So I’ve got to try it, right?”

Aziraphale sniffed, “Those Elvis themed ones? I should have known they were one of yours. The whole idea seems rather silly to me dear.”

“Yes well, that’s the point, isn't it.”

“The point behind it being one of your schemes, certainly. But I don’t see why _ I  _ have to be involved.” He took off his spectacles and cleaned some non-existent dust off of them to give Crowley a  _ look _ .

“But I know you. And I know you won’t let this drop,” He continued, “so I will marry you in this… ridiculous way, on one condition.”

“Anything” Crowley immediately replied, and he meant it. Anything for his angel.

“I want to wear a dress this time.”

“Wha-”

“Oh don’t be like that. “Men’s” fashion has been so dreadfully dull these past few centuries. I miss the soft fabrics and the pretty designs. If I’m going to be making a fool of myself anyway I might as well get to look nice.” Aziraphale straightened his bowtie. “I trust that’s alright with you dear?”

“Nnhhh” Crowley replied, his tongue failing him as memories of Aziraphale in all manner of fine fabrics throughout the centuries flowed through his head. 

Aziraphale must have taken that as agreement, because he beamed at him with a self-satisfied air. “Excellent.” 

  
  


  1. ** 2008 England **

Crowley’s gender and presentation weren’t always related, sometimes simply due to what he wanted to wear at the time, or other times, like now, he went with what was necessary for work. 

The Dowlings were doing background checks on all applicants for positions at the manor. This was something he and Aziraphale really ought to have seen coming, but they had not. So they had both scrambled to create legal proof, paperwork, which showed that both Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis existed. And one of the final pieces of proof was going to be a marriage certificate. That would give them cover for knowing each other, a reason to sneak off alone sometimes, and things like that. And every bit of evidence helped. So they were getting married, and taking wedding photos, and doing the whole bit. 

And even though this wedding was just for show, just part of a plan, and even though Aziraphale’s disguise was frankly ghastly, Crowley’s heart still beat faster as he walked down the aisle to him in a severe black dress. And it seemed Aziraphale felt the same because his face broke into a buck-toothed grin as he sensed the wave of love coming off of Crowley. 

  
  


  1. ** 2014 London**

“Really Angel? We got married only six years ago. And we have a child to look after! Now is really not the time to slip away and-”

“I know dear, I know,” Aziraphale wrung his hands. “But this is important.”

Crowley couldn’t exactly argue. It was nice to see the humans making progress. And while supporting those marginalized on account of gender had sort of become Crowley’s secret role over the years, Aziraphale’s role as guardian of sexuality was also deeply important. But at the same time…

“And before you say anything about work or Warlock, I thought I should mention that the other staff have been saying it’s weird, how we don’t take any days off.” 

And as it was when Aziraphale really wanted something, there just was not much Crowley could say. Not that he truly wanted to anyway. So a few weekends later they were married in a court in London, Aziraphale wearing a rainbow bowtie, and Crowley with some pins in his hair in the colors of the nonbinary flag. 

  
  


**+1. 2022 Tadfield**

The apocalypse had failed to happen three years ago. A lot had happened since then. In another version of history, this time would have been the shift of their relationship from platonic to romantic. Here it was still a big shift. Unlearning thousands of years of secrecy, adapting to freedom. They still caught themselves furtively looking around before sneaking a kiss, triple checking the location of a date before allowing themselves to smile at each other in the open. 

Slowly it became easier, they were becoming more comfortable. Now sometimes Crowley would reach out and take his hand without even thinking about it. Sometimes Aziraphale found himself saying how he felt out loud where others could hear without hesitation.

It had taken them some years before they felt comfortable enough for this next step, but finally they were ready and everything was planned. 

The big day dawned. A church had been out of the question of course, so a select few guests were filing into a little park at the edge of Tadfield. There weren’t all that many humans that Aziraphale and Crowley liked, but those that they were close to had all been invited. They took their seats in white lawn chairs arranged in two rows. Both rows had been labeled “our side”. At the end of each row terrified lilies had been tied to the chairs with black silk. 

Crowley stood waiting in front of it all. He was nervous. It made so little sense to be nervous, they had done this so many times, but he was. All the times before they had taken exhaustive measures to block the view of above and below. Now, he felt naked, vulnerable. But it was more than that which had him sweating. It was the electric thrill of finally,  _ finally, _ declaring to the universe that had thrown him down that he wasn’t alone, that he had his angel by his side who loved him just as much as he was loved in return. 

When the last guest had taken their seat music began to play as if from thin air. And there was Aziraphale, dressed as he would have been in France in another world. He walked down the aisle slowly, eyes locked with Crowley’s uncovered eyes, another layer of vulnerability. 

They clasped each other’s hands when he reached him and leaned in for a kiss. There was no minister or officiate, they didn’t need one. No vows were said either, for the two had already faced down the end of the world together, spent thousands of years by each other’s sides. What more could there be to say of their dedication to each other? Instead, Adam and Warlock stepped forward, each carrying a ring. Adam handed Aziraphale a wing shaped golden ring, and Warlock handed Crowley a silver ring in the shape of a twisted serpent. Each placed the ring on the other’s finger. Then they both leaned forward and let their foreheads press together. Two souls flowed out of the physical forms that had contained them and joined, combining as one. They lingered for several seconds in that position, basking in the warmth of their togetherness. Physically nothing happened, but a shockwave spread over the celestial plane. At last, they separated and returned to their own bodies.

Until now Aziraphale and Crowley had only been married in the human sense, not in the celestial sense. Something of that magnitude would have been impossible to hide. But now they were free. Tears flowed from Crowley’s eyes and Aziraphale smiled, hugging him. The surrounding humans were unsure of what exactly had happened, but clapped anyway. The couple were oblivious to that fact. Later there would be congratulations, and dancing, and cake. But for this moment in time, all that mattered was the two of them, at long last, with no barriers separating them. 


End file.
